


Ce qui n’est pas avec moi

by shomarus



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch!Mercy, F/F, Talon!Amélie, shrug kaomoji, widowmaker doesnt exist in this universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-29 09:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shomarus/pseuds/shomarus
Summary: Amélie falls and learns that the world is not so black-and-white.Angela falls and learns that appearances give way to deception.





	1. ursprung und schluss

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to be extremely liberal with the timeline here, mostly because it's an au and i can do what i want. this is also an au where overwatch doesn't disband until much later, for reasons seen above.

Angela Ziegler remembered a time when she was fifteen years old and on the road.

That was the year that she graduated high school. A mere child standing next to the tens of adults and teenagers. An anomaly, a prodigy, someone to be envious of. Honor roll every single year of her life. Considering her smarts, her unfortunate background and her personality, it was natural that the next step was medical school. Many schools welcomed her with open arms. Many schools wanted her, Angela Ziegler, to attend their extensive medical program. Benefits and scholarships were a given. So of course, Angela chose the school that wanted her the least.

“Take a year off,” they said. Angela knew that the fake voice of concern was not for her, but for themselves. They did not want to teach a child, to put the lives of others in her hands. She felt similarly; she did not want to have such responsibility pushed into her life. Not yet, not when she wasn’t ready.

So there she was. Watching the scenery change and evolve before her eyes, taking a five hour trip down to another country. Someone her age might have been excited. Having lived in Zürich for all her life, the wonder and charm was readily wearing off. And with the constant stream of soldiers pouring in and out, Angela should have been at least glad.

She wasn’t. It wasn’t as though she was unhappy either; she just felt numb. Numbness was a common theme with her, and a blessing it was. Numbness gave her stability in times of hardship, it was a thing for her to focus on and to ground herself with. Numbness was what got her through high school, when her parents were killed. She’d only been thirteen. Two years, two years wasn’t enough. A lifetime couldn’t be enough.

Violently, unbidden, Angela remembered a distinct excerpt from her father’s final letter. “Don’t worry about us, _engel._ You know what they say in the army, right? Heroes never die. Kisses, love and hugs from papa and mama. :)”

The sting reached for her throat, it wrenched wetness from her eyes. There was a pit in her stomach and it was only growing. Angela feared that if she let it, the pit would swallow her whole and then the numbness wouldn’t be able to save her because she was falling too fast and her heart was pounding in her ears because her parents lied to her and said that heroes never die and yet she saw their faces in their coffins and

“Angela?”

Aunt Gitta. Her voice was something that Angela could use to hold on to. Slowly but steadily, her breathing slowed, her composure was regained. She inhaled, she exhaled. “I’m good. Don’t worry about it.” It was unlike her to get this upset this easily. She figured that it was because the car, the low signal. All this time and nothing but silence gave her too much to think about. “I’m fine,” she repeated, quieter.

“Mm? Well, if you say so. We’re almost here,” Gitta announced. Angela didn’t quite know where ‘here’ was, besides the fact that ‘here’ was in France. She nodded anyways. She settled back into her seat, and closed her eyes. “How are you feeling? Hungry? Need to use the bathroom?”

Angela thought about it. “Food would be nice,” she decides. She’s tired and wants to cry, but Aunt Gitta was already burdened by the same sense of loss that Angela felt and twice over. It’s childish, but she reasoned that it was fine to be. She was only fifteen. And if she’s punishing herself with the intent of someone else’s well being, it should be fine. Right?

(She didn’t know how much she’d be using that line as a crutch for her self-destructive behaviour later in life. Angela muses that if she did, she still wouldn’t have stopped using it as an excuse. She knows herself too well.)

“Welcome to Annecy, France!”

Angela stared at the world around her. The architecture in Annecy was interesting. Similar to Zürich, but not entirely the same. The homey-looking buildings filled her with a sense of dull wonder. Annecy hadn’t been hit as hard by the omnics, by civil war and whatever else happened in Switzerland. Full of life, a beautiful place. Gleaming blue waters and crisp air that she might have found herself enjoying if she wasn’t trying to drown out the feeling of loss.

“Where do you feel like eating?” Gitta asked, giving Angela a look through the mirror. She shrugged in response.

“I don’t know where anything is. You’ve been here before, right?” Angela knew that her aunt used to live in Romandy before her parents died and Gitta moved up to Zürich. She used to travel all over France, bringing Angela small trinkets and toys from wherever she went. And now, well. She supposed that she wouldn’t mind travelling with Gitta for a year before she lost herself in medical textbooks for the next eight years of her life.

Gitta smiled. “Indeed, that I have. I know a few good spots, the amount of which depends on just how hungry you are.”

“Hungry enough,” Angela shrugged again. “Just take me to one of your favourite places, maybe?”

She drove them to a dinner theatre. “Apparently they’re having a bunch of kids from a local dance studio perform,” she explained. Angela thought it was random, but Gitta was such an ‘out-there’ kind of person that really, her surprise was unwarranted. “I remembered that you used to gush to me about those movies… The one about _Swan Lake_. So I figured that you might like to see the original dance.”

Of course Aunt Gitta was the only one who remembered her enamourment with her extensive collection of Barbie movies. She’d only been five years old at the time, but she felt embarrassed all the same. Still, she offered up a sheepish smile. It was nice of Gitta to think of her.

The food was good, but it could barely hold a candle to the performance.

Normally, Angela would have snorted and turned her eyes away. The performers were young, young enough for her to dismiss them as snotfaced gremlin children who didn’t deserve the better part of the day. Or her attention, for that matter.  But her attention had been grabbed by the way they carried themselves up on stage.

The actress who played Odette in particular was stunning. Surely, she couldn’t have been any older than ten years old, but the way she danced was calculated and passionate. Angela watched, and she thought. The way she played Odile was just as fitting, and she wondered how someone could _perfectly_ fit into both the roles of a damsel in distress and a mischievous witch as if they were mere extensions of their personality.

Every move, every twist. Jump, facial expression. It was done with the intent of letting the world know that this was a tragedy centered around _her_. Which wasn’t to say the other performers did terribly either; they were fantastic in their own ways. Angela loved the entire production, from the music, to the dancing, to the costume design and everything else in between.

Naturally, this rendition of _Swan Lake_ was shorter than the original, lasting half an hour. Enough time for Angela to finish her meal, and enough time for the performers to come off stage and address the crowd of adoring fans. A moment of hesitation, and she looked to Gitta. “I’ll be a second,” she said, and Gitta simply gave her a toothy smile, ushering her forward.

Odette’s actress (Amélie Blanchard, the studio’s star performer, a title rightly deserved) was surrounded by adults cooing over her, asking questions about the studio, complimenting her performance. Angela waited patiently for the crowd to dissolve (and threw multiple quick glances Gitta’s way, in order to make sure that she wasn’t holding her up) before she got in a few lines with Amélie.

“Hey,” Angela offered awkwardly. She briefly tried to recall any part of her French from back when she’d taken core French. She was unsure of whether Amélie spoke English or not, and she felt stupid for not considering it until she was actually _in front_ of the girl. Hopefully her rusty French was not so bad that it was unintelligible. “ _Votre performance… c'etait magnifique_.”

Amélie grinned up at her. “Thanks!” she chirped. Angela felt herself relax, gain confidence. Just not enough of it.

“How long have you been dancing for?” She hoped that her tone didn’t come off as patronizing. Angela found it hard not to sound patronizing when she was grasping for conversation topics. _There’s only like, what. Four, five years between the two of you? You’re literally heading to med school at sixteen, don’t freeze up because you’re a little starstruck._

“Three years! Though it’ll be four next month.” Amélie cocked her head at Angela. “So what school do you go to? Haven’t seen you at mine.”

“Oh, uh. I don’t live in Annecy, and even if I did, I don’t go to school anymore.”

Amélie let out a dramatic sigh. “Lucky. Where _do_ you live?”

“Being out of school isn’t as cool as you think it is,” Angela laughed. “Also, I live in Zürich. Uh, that’s like. Upper Switzerland.”

“I’ve never been to Switzerland,” Amélie said. “What’s it like up there?”

Angela thought on this. “Ah, well… I’ve only been in Annecy for two hours, I wouldn’t know how to compare it to here. Zürich is much bigger than Annecy. Or, er… At the very least it used to be.” Would a ten year old care to know about the horrors of war? Angela certainly hadn’t, but there she was anyways. Her parents dead, her spirit cold and a maturity that was unreasonable for a child her age.

She found herself suddenly praying that Amélie wouldn’t have to experience the horrors of war. She hoped that the Omnic Crisis didn’t reach this part of France. For Amélie’s sake, for the sake of the other performers and for the children whose names she didn’t know. For their parents. For... Angela exhaled. “What I’ve seen of Annecy is much nicer,” she finally decided on.

The ballerina nodded, though she didn’t seem fully invested in the conversation. Angela noticed the tirade of tiny children gesturing at Amélie to join them. “Uhhhhhh huh. Welp! I gotta go, these slippers are starting to hurt,” Amélie giggled. Angela smiled in understanding. “Oh! It was nice talking to you though. What’s your name?”

She didn’t think that Amélie would remember it, but she gave it for politeness’ sake. “Angela Ziegler. It’s been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Okay, gotcha! You probably already know my name, right? Amélie? Oh, they’re waiting for me. Seeya later then, Angela!” Amélie tossed a wave and a flashy grin to her before scampering backstage with the other actors. Angela waved back, and stared after Amélie before she went to go sit back down with Gitta.

“So, you liked the performance?” Gitta asked hopefully.

She smiled. “Loved it.” And she had.

They left the dinner theatre to go look around for a hotel, and Angela thought back to her previous interaction with Amélie. It had been short, sweet, and she figured that she’d never see Amélie again. Regardless, it felt as though she had made a friend. It was kind of a ridiculous thought, childish and desperate for want, but she let herself indulge.

“Hey, Aunt Gitta?” Angela had been sitting in the back on the way down to Annecy, but she decided to ride shotgun this time, next to Gitta. She thought it might have made her feel better, and she was starting to feel more receptive to the idea of social interaction anyways. “Thank you for doing this.” She wasn’t just referring to the dinner theatre, although that was a nice treat.

It was everything. The times that Gitta let Angela sleep in her arms, the times that Gitta let her babble and babble about how upset she was. When Gitta did silly things to try to cheer her up, and now as well. Though Gitta didn’t know that, and Angela didn’t say anything.

Aunt Gitta just laughed and shook her head. “Don’t mention it, angel. I need this trip just as much as you do.”

 

* * *

 

Amélie Lacroix remembered a time when she was twenty-three and unsure of herself.

It was a Tuesday night. 9:25 PM, but it was still bright and light outside. Amélie was having a crisis. Internal, calculated, something that nobody but herself could know about, but a crisis nonetheless. Really, considering the circumstance that she was in, she was pretty damn proud of herself for not letting the whole world know that she was two seconds away from losing her shit.

After all, it’s certainly not a common occurrence for terrorists to ransack your home in the dead of night and drop their business number in your lap.

“I should report this to the police,” she remembered saying. Amélie always had a tongue that ran itself off like an athlete, but just this once she couldn’t will herself to shut up. It was the only thing keeping her from freaking out right then and there.

“You should,” the woman had agreed with a haughty laugh. “But you won’t, ‘cause then all this dirt I have on you goes straight to Gérard. And I know lots of things about you, _chica_. There’s very little reason for me to believe that you _don’t_ want to keep these dirty secrets away from his eyes.”

Amélie sucked in a breath, and downed another sip of wine. She was far from perfect, but Gérard hadn’t known that. How could he? He was a man who only saw what was in front of him, choosing to believe what he believed. He didn’t know about criminal past, he wasn’t supposed to. Amélie had changed, she’d never been caught ( _not by the authorities anyways_ , she thought bitterly), so it should’ve been fine.

“Just give me your answer by Wednesday morning!” The woman winked and grinned. “I mean, don’t fool yourself too hard here. It’s either you join up with _me_ , or Gérard spends the better part of his life hating _you_. I’ve got the divorce papers ready, if it helps.” It did not.

Amélie already knew she was going to say yes, but she wasn’t going to give the stranger another reason to look full of herself. She wanted nothing more than to reach over and slap that self-satisfied expression off her face, but if someone could dig up her drug records within a second… She didn’t want to know what other kinds of things those hot pink claws could do. “I’ll let you know.”

Two days later and she was still plagued with worry. Time was running out, and Amélie had spent too much time mulling over the situation to even begin contemplating leaving the country. Gérard would still wonder where she was, and God be damned if he couldn’t rouse the entire French Army to go looking for her. She let out another drawn out sigh, and put the emptied glass down. She craved something harder, but she refused to let herself spend the money.

She shouldn’t have been peddling drugs back then. That was a no-brainer, but having actually _done_ it the desire was only more powerful. Amélie had been an ambitious teenager who saw the destruction caused by the Omnic Crisis and used it as an opportunity to make good for herself. And with the police force being so focused on other things… It’d been too easy.

The Omnic Crisis itself hadn’t been easy to deal with. Fortunately, _very_ fortunately, France hadn’t received the worst of it. From what she knew, the crisis started in Russia and spread westward from there. It’d been held up by the Russians, then the Germans, and naturally Overwatch being situated in Switzerland did nothing but good when the Omnics started appearing there too. Didn’t mean that Amélie’s father _hadn’t_ been killed, but she truly did appreciate every effort that went into stopping them. Even if it hadn’t been enough.

“You look pretty down.”

Amélie whipped her head around to see the very same woman from that night pulling the chair out next to her. Her eyes narrowed. “ _Ouais_. I can only wonder why that is the case.”

Snicker. “Ah man, Amélie… You’re a riot. Ooh, hey, this song’s pretty good.” Her head perked up before she rested her cheek in her propped up hand. Amélie knew this one; _Tango Square_. It was a favourite of hers, but knowing that mystery woman over here _also_ liked the song made Amélie more inclined to hate it than anything else. “The accordion is nice, but I like nylon strings better. They’re much less grating to the ears.”

What was she supposed to do? Agree? Disagree? Amélie settled for nothing but swirling around the backwash in her wine glass disinterestedly. Trying to pretend that this woman doesn’t scare her. But she does, and Amélie wonders if that’s what this woman wants. To scare her in every way possible.

“Oh, don’t give me the cold shoulder. You’ll see that Talon’s ideals line fairly well with your own. Just figured that you needed a little push.” She leaned in to whisper, “Humanity is made stronger by conflict. You’ve lived through this and you know.”

If the circumstances had been different, Amélie might have _willingly_ gone to Talon at some point in her life. But with the rude intrusion in her life’s private affairs, there was a petty desire to stay away. She closed her eyes. “And you figured you couldn’t have asked?”

“Maybe, but you love him too much.”

It was true. And she hated this woman for knowing that. She hated this woman for a lot of things, actually, but this was pretty far up there. “Was there a reason as to why you needed me in specific?”

“Nah, not really. We just picked you ‘cause someone was a big fan of your shows. That same someone also happens to be a huge fan of taking people’s lives and fucking them over royally.”

Amélie rolled her eyes. She had felt like her being chosen was like a draw from a twisted lottery, and she had been right. There was an inkling that the woman next to her was the one who had chosen her, but she doubted that her suspicions would be confirmed just yet. “You are a sick woman.”

“Ouch. I mean, fair, but also ouch.” That smirk was annoying. Amélie found herself closer and closer to giving a well-deserved smack to the cheek with every passing second. But to lose herself in anger was a sign that she’d lost. “Say, I think you’ve stalled for long enough. And yeah, I know I said Wednesday morning, but to hell with that, y’know?”

She sighed. “I don’t think that you’d have come for me for any other reason. Take me where you need to.” _It’s not like I have a choice anyways_ , she wanted to add.

“Sweet! By the way, since we’ll be working pretty closely together, I thought it’d be nice to mention. My name’s Sombra.” Sombra jumped off the barstool and turned to face Amélie in a manner that she could only describe as _surdimensionné_. “That’s not my _actual_ name, of course. Wouldn’t want you to think that you can start unravelling _my_ secrets before I let you know all of yours. _¿No es cierto?_ Anyways, follow me, _cisniña_.”

What choice did Amélie have but to follow? So she did, suddenly aware of Sombra’s appearance. She didn’t dress in a way meant to stand out; a simple black dress to a bar was standard. But her appearance itself was meant to attract attention. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Regardless, hair that faded from brown to bright purple to silver, styled in an undercut? That was a rare look for someone in Annecy. A rare look for anyone, Amélie guessed, but then again, she’d never been to anywhere _but_ her quaint hometown. What did she know? The makeup and the hot pink nails did nothing to help Sombra’s situation.

If nothing else, it _was_ a good look.

Sombra pointed to Amélie’s vehicle, a sleek black Citroën C3. Before she could even think to ask _how_ she knew that she drove this specific Citroën, amongst the other tens of vehicles surrounding it, Sombra let out a laugh. “Pass me the keys and I’ll drive. You don’t know where we’re going, right? By the way, you take extremely good care of your cars. Though this ain’t the most glamorous one out there, no? Pfft.” She leaned over to fish for Amélie’s keys in her purse. Amélie let her. “Y’see, they sent me in for one specific reason. I’m good with information, _very_ good with information. I know how to get it and I know what it does to people. If you think that me knowing your plate number is a surprise, then _boy_ do I have the string of surprises for you.”

Amélie chose not to ask, and instead climbed in the passenger’s seat. “How long will the trip be?”

“Talon has a base that’s somewhere close to Lyon. Two hours. An hour and a half if I push it.” Sombra turned her head to crack a grin at Amélie, who closed her eyes and shook her head. “Damn, alright, so that’s out of the question.”

The ride had been uncomfortable for the most part. Sombra tried to get in some bits of conversation, but the questions she asked served no purpose other than to make Amélie feel _worse_ about her situation. “Did you tell Gérard?”

“No,” Amélie muttered. That question sent a bout of queasiness straight into her stomach. “Not about, well. You. That’s a given, I’d probably be dead where I stand.”

Sombra interrupted her with a cackle. “Nah, I’d do just as I said I would. Leak your records to Gérard. Subtlety is the most fun way to break people, dontcha think?”

“Continuing on,” she started, making a point of showing her annoyance by throwing a glare at Sombra. She was too focused on the road to catch it, but it was the principle of the thing that counted, right? “I didn’t tell him that I was leaving Annecy. Didn’t even pull up the topic of divorce.”

“Let me guess. Not because you didn’t want to say it over the phone, though that might have played into it as well, huh? You just didn’t want to hurt his feelings for as long as possible, so you think that disappearing without a trace will make it easier on him.” Sombra snorted. “You’ve got a skewed sense of what easy means, _buuuut_ it’s nothing we can’t work on.”

Hearing no response from Amélie, Sombra continued to ramble on. “ _Chico’s_ gonna be worried about you, dude. It’s probably a good thing I got you just after he left for military business, yeah? Too bad he’s gonna come home to an empty house.”

(Amélie couldn’t have known that only two years later, the only thing coming back to their quiet home in Annecy was the letter that signaled Gérard’s death. But even if she’d known that then, she didn’t think that she’d feel any better for it.)

“I mean, unless Talon decides that you’ve served your time well enough. You’ve gotta be right above ‘good enough’, but just under ‘absolutely necessary’. I don’t know what kind of skills you have other than the fact that you dance, but I mean. Surely you can’t be better than me.”

Amélie quirked an eyebrow instinctively. “And how good are you? Good enough that Talon doesn’t want to be rid of you?”

“Yeah, something like that. That, and the fact that they _know_ I can’t change my identity again. So it’s either work for Talon or rot in a penitentiary. Shit sucks. Like, workin’ for Talon ain’t the worst thing in the world, sure beats the shitshow that was Los Muertos. Just takes too much time away from what I really wanna do.”

Amélie guessed that Sombra wasn’t really talking to her so much as she was letting off steam in the form of complaining. It was nice to get to know anything about her, so Amélie listened in. “And that is?”

“Finding out all the world’s secrets,” Sombra replied, barely missing a beat.

“That’s a very steep goal.”

She laughed. “Ah man, you don’t already know? You’ve seen what I can dig up when I’m only _barely_ trying. Don’t suppose you want a reminder? There’s something’ going on, and I want to be the first one to figure out what.

“I tried before, and I sorta fucked up. _Esa mierda chupada_. You know what a talented AI does these days? If programmed by someone who’s got any sort of skill, it can detect glitches in it’s system, build itself better. Like, I don’t know, the omnic shit that’s happening down in South Korea.” Sombra corkscrewed one hand in the air as she spoke. “So that’s what I did. Or it’s what I tried to do. Changed my identity, became Sombra. Talon knew who I was before. I mean, they can’t hold a torch to what _I_ can do, but they’ve got some talented people there. I’m sure you can infer the rest.”

Thinking about Sombra’s situation was enough for Amélie to keep her mind off of hers. Even if it was only for an hour. Those few fleeting moments were bliss.


	2. erschaffen und verzerren

It’s been four years since she joined Overwatch. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she had seen for herself back when she was still a teenager. Angela was a staunch advocate for pacifism, and she didn’t hesitate to let Overwatch know when they first tried to recruit her. “A militaristic approach will never work when you’re trying to bring forth peace,” she’d write back, and immediately shred the letter of invitation.

They never quite left her alone. Not to toot her own horn, but Angela _was_ the child prodigy who graduated (with academic excellence nonetheless) medical school at twenty-four. The one who started her career as a trauma surgeon at only twenty-five, the woman with a brilliant mind that everyone wanted but herself. She still didn’t know if it was her annoyance with the group’s persistence or the fact that their reasons were getting better that pushed her to sign up and walk among the ranks of the world’s greatest.

Now, Overwatch may have represented everything that Angela hated in the world, but Blackwatch somehow managed to do all the bad that Overwatch did and _more_. If there was a world leader who leaned a little _too_ far towards the point of dictatorship, Blackwatch made sure that they were disposed of. (Of course, not without doing a little interrogation first.) If there was someone out there who was found to be using the fruits of their research in the wrong way, it was hardly a mystery to figure out what happened when Angela was given new medical reports to chew on.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. How many agents would be dead were it not for Blackwatch taking out the threat before they realized it? Under normal circumstances, an Overwatch agent wouldn’t know any of this. Blackwatch was still a covert ops division, and Overwatch was (in Angela’s humble opinion) far too liberal with their hiring process. If anyone who didn’t like it caught wind of Blackwatch and felt like letting the authorities know… Well, Angela already had a list of places to go to in order to find new work. She knew all of Blackwatch’s sins _because_ she herself was a member of Blackwatch.

The invitation was extended to her about two years after she first signed on. She could still remember the paralyzing anxiety she felt when her name was called, because Commander Morrison wasn’t supposed to have a reason for wanting to talk to her (surely, if he wanted to speak to her as a friend, he could have just called her cellphone). And if Morrison wasn’t supposed to have a reason for it, Agent Reyes _certainly_ shouldn’t have had a reason. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t been as tense as she’d been expecting, and for that she was endlessly glad for.

“Take a seat,” Jack motioned to one of the plush chairs in front of her. Nodding, Angela did. “You look pretty tense there, Angela. Don’t sweat it too hard.”

 _Kind of hard not to, when two of Overwatch’s most influential leaders are sitting right in front of you_ , Angela thought with an internal snort, but decided to keep the thought to herself. Jack already knew one-too-many things about her. To know that she was _still_ intimidated by his presence was something that he could survive without. “Anyways,” she coughed, hoping to make this visit as brief as possible. “What did you need me for?”

“We’ve seen how you work,” Reyes began, and Angela didn’t know if she felt better or worse now that he was taking over the conversation. “No one would argue with you to say that what you’re doing _isn’t_ beneficial for humanity.” Worse. Definitely worse.

“But?”

“Reyes thinks that you can do better,” Jack answered. “His proposal sounds interesting, and I think I’d like you to hear it.”

Reyes shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not a big a deal as Commander Morrison’s making it out to be. Might be to you, Doctor.” Angela gestured at him to go on. “I think that I want you to enlist in our covert ops division.”

“We have a covert ops division?” was Angela’s first question, before she shook her head. “I mean, well. I guess me not knowing that we have one is a sign that you’re doing your job right.” Still, it wasn’t reassuring. The purpose of a covert ops division was to carry out missions that a sponsor didn’t know about. And in this case, the Swiss government. “Remind me, since when did Overwatch have need for a covert ops division? We’re a peacekeeping organization, are we not?”

Jack let out a harsh noise. Like he’d been expecting the question, but still didn’t know how to give a response. He started off slowly. “Some people don’t want peace. They have too much to gain from chaos, so they don’t budge. Blackwatch does a lot more good than what you may think. More than I want to admit.” He threw a pointed look at Reyes, who might have been smiling. Angela didn’t know, and she decided that it was her eyes playing tricks on her.

“And you think that I’m going to willingly enlist?” Angela quirked an eyebrow at Reyes. This proposal was sounding interesting, because if these two really thought that it’d be enough to draw her in, well. It had to be pretty damn convincing.

Reyes shifted in place. “I’ll give you the skinny; Blackwatch has been going after a terrorist organization for a while. You know the Omnium explosion that took out Bjarnson and Lentz?” Oh. Angela nodded her head, uneasy. She hadn’t been on the mission, and she felt needlessly guilty every time she reminded herself that she _could_ have saved them. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t a freak incident. That Omnium’s been dead and deactivated for years. The explosion was calculated, done by someone who knew we were going to be there.”

“You mean the person who reported rogue Bastion unit sightings,” Angela finished, filling in the gaps for herself. If she hadn’t already been sitting, she might have collapsed onto the seat in disbelief. It sounded ridiculous, that they’d lost soldiers as a result of something like a false report. It’d been so easy...

“Exactly. Unfortunately for them, those fuckers didn’t cover their tracks well enough.” Reyes actually _was_ smiling now, and Angela couldn’t figure out why.

“Forgive me if I’m out of line,” she began, quirking an eyebrow up. “But this… Threat, if you will, has already caught you off guard. You lost two men that night. Assuming this is another trap, which it very well could be, how many more are you willing to lose?”

The smile was gone, and it made Angela feel uneasy as a result. Actually, Reyes’ whole character made her feel uneasy, but she supposed that there were some things you couldn’t help.

“What they found wasn’t a location, or an invitation, or anything like that. Reyes can fill you in on the details, but there were blueprints and a _lot_ of notes on manipulation of cell growth.” Jack looked to Reyes. “Most of it’s encrypted, but we’re pulling some of Overwatch resources to decrypt it all. Problem is, we have no clue what to do with the information.”

Reyes took over. “Lindholm, our engineer, he’s already volunteered to take a look at the blueprints. We didn’t even really need to tell him where we got it.” Angela winced. She and Torbjörn held similar ideas about Overwatch, and to hear this was kind of… Well. She didn’t think that he’d be as willing if he did know that Overwatch had Blackwatch attached to it. Reyes didn’t seem to notice her discomfort, and continued. “But the research on cell manipulation is completely past anyone at Blackwatch. Nobody knows how to proceed, so we were thinking that you might.”

“Couldn’t you just give me what you already have without putting me in a position where I have to get acquainted with Blackwatch?” It made sense to Angela. But Jack and Reyes gave each other a look of knowing.

“You’re too curious,” Jack began. “It’s what makes you brilliant, sure, but it’s also why we have to tell you about Blackwatch. And it’s also why you have to conduct your research in their facility. Your associates also happen to be curious people, and I don’t feel like letting all of our agents in on the fact that Blackwatch exists.”

Ah. That also made sense.

“Alright. You’ve piqued my interest enough. When do I start?”

* * *

 Fast forward two years, and there she was, working for a group that went against her every moral. It was kind of funny, how that worked. Angela’s job hasn’t changed considerably since she joined Blackwatch. She still patched up soldiers, and she still poured over reports and resources. She just wasn’t patching up Overwatch agents, and she wasn’t making any more project on her Caduceus project. Not that her current research _wasn’t_ interesting, but it didn’t feel right to leave one thing untied and go straight to another. Another time, _mein freund_.

Stretching her arms out, Angela could feel a wave of tiredness coming on. Fair, considering she’d only been getting four hours of sleep each night. Certainly not the worst she’d ever gone in her life, but it was still too much. Too much sleep? Too much time away from work? An ungodly amalgamation of both. If she didn’t get enough sleep, she couldn’t do her job right. If she got too much sleep (and these days, even her paltry four hours seemed like far too much), people were going to die as well. A delicate balance that she had no clue how to calculate.

Perhaps she could switch topics of research once more. Stop trying to learn how to make people live far beyond their years, start trying to figure out what a human needs in order for their brains to reject the idea of sleep. Her eyes closed. It didn’t help that Angela’s modus operandi boiled down to ‘meh, I’ll keep working on this until I feel tired’. She never felt tired until the sun was coming up and it was too late to get a good night’s rest. And the idea of a day off? Absurd.

“Hey there, doc,” a voice called out, and Angela’s eyes opened to find McCree staring right at her. “Lookin’ a little tired.”

She felt a smirk come to her lips despite herself. “I’m surprised I hadn’t heard you; those boots make an awful lot of noise.”

“Pah. The boots are cool, and you know it.”

Angela learned a lot of things, being the extremely observant person that she was. Those who wanted to get close to her always acted just a little less clever. They scramble for the position of only-a-little-dumb-but-still-likeable, and stay away from topics that they think she won’t like. They don’t say things that she wouldn’t want to hear. Jesse McCree was an exception to that rule. Ever the likeable idiot, sure, but an _honest_ likeable idiot. He was just damn fun to hang around, and made her experience in Blackwatch that much more enjoyable.

They’d grown to be friends (or at least amicable acquaintances), during which Angela learned a good few things about Jesse. For starters he had very little regard for his wellbeing. That, or the world had a personal vendetta against the two of them, the sheer frequency at which Jesse showed up in her medical ward being the proof of that. Secondly, he was an absolute _rock_ when it came to his social life. Perhaps she was simply reading into things. Of course, she wasn’t, seeing as how Shimada himself had talked her ear off about it for as long as she could stomach when he had been doped up on painkillers. “I just don’t get it,” he’d mutter out loud, grabbing her attention. “Hell, Angela. _You_ were able to see it before he did. Does? Will. _Fuuuuuck_ , I don’t know...”

But, for all the stupid things Jesse had done and said, he was a pretty decent guy. She could remember more than one occasion where Angela had said something utterly _horrible_ during a meeting or casual conversation and he saved her ass. She could _also_ remember the times he had saved her ass in the battlefield (because alas, her role in Blackwatch didn’t mean she was allowed a break), as well as the times that he had ended up in the infirmary for it.

“If you’re not going to stand around my desk all day, why don’t you tell me what you came in here for?” Angela smiled, before her expression darkened at the thought of the possibilities.  “You wouldn’t happen to be hiding an injury from me, now would you?”

Immediately, his hands were raised in defense. “Now hold on, doc. I may be confident, but I ain’t no idiot. Just here to show the place to the newbie,” he explained, before turning behind him. “Lacroix? Told ya she’s not busy.”

Only now did Angela realize that there was a woman hiding around the corner. She stepped into the light, showing off a sheepish grin. “Doctor Ziegler, yes? I’ve heard many things about you.”

“Hopefully only good things?”

“But of course!”

“This is Amélie Lacroix,” Jesse introduced her with a smile. “She’s a new transfer from one o’ the Overwatch branches in Canada. She’s good with a rifle n’ she’s got stellar aim. Not as good as me, I hope,” —a wolfish, teasing grin was thrown Amélie’s way— “but good enough that Commander Reyes wants her posted here.”

Angela nodded her head slowly.  “So long as she doesn’t give me as much trouble as _you_ do, McCree,” she said with a smile. “As for you, Agent Lacroix, it’s a pleasure to meet you. How has everyone been treating you so far?”

“Likewise, it’s an honor, really.” Amélie had a charming smile, something that certainly brightened up the dark halls of the base. Angela could only wonder how long it would be until even that began to dim. “And everyone’s been treating me very well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” _Ah, there she went. Scrabbling for the position of likeable idiot once again?_

Amélie opened her mouth to say something else before she closed it again. Her face scrunched up for a second, hesitating. “Forgive me if this is an odd question, but have you been to France before?”

“Multiple times, yes. Why did you want to know?”

She shrugged. “You have the same name as someone I once knew. It was just one of those weird childhood experiences you have and are able to remember vividly, you know? You’re er, probably not the same person though.”

“I might be,” Angela responded. Leaning forward, she opted to switch the topic. “You transferred in from the Canadian branch, right? Why are you asking about France?”

Letting out a sheepish laugh, Amélie turned to look at Jesse. “My family wanted to get away from the Omnic crisis. Canada was decidedly unaffected enough for them to consider it, and well… I had wanted to join Overwatch before, but at the time I spoke no English. Or German.”

Angela was beginning to the see the picture. “And there is no branches anywhere around here save for the Switzerland HQ.”

“Yes, you get it.”

“I’d hate to cut the meetin’ short and all,” Jesse cut in, scuffing his boot against the floor. “Commander Reyes is planning to meet up with us in about twenty minutes, and I’m supposed to have shown Lacroix the whole place before then. Seeya later, doc.”

Amélie straightened up and nodded. “Thank you for your time, Doctor Ziegler.”

All Angela could do was smile and wave her hand dismissively in response. “Call me Angela.”

* * *

 Since joining up with Talon, Amélie had learned to do many things that she doesn’t like doing. Espionage is one thing, heists are another. Killing is a heavy topic that doesn’t sit well with her and for all the wrong reasons. Something that took all three and rolled them up into a single, tightly-rolled package was, well, deeply uncomfortable at the very best. And to have to execute the whole thing by herself? The notion seemed absurd. Definitely not something she was going to jump for joy over.

“I understand that it’s not really my place to speak, but I also don’t see why you can’t do the mission, or at least help me with it,” Amélie had muttered. “Stealthing around and stealing intel? Isn’t that your whole _thing_?”

Snide laughter came from the other end of the screen. “It’s ‘cause Overwatch already knows what I look like. I know how to delete their files, but the images in their mind? _No bueno_. You though, nobody knows who you are. And that’s precisely what I’m gonna use to get you in there. All you have to do after that is get close to the members of Blackwatch, _especially_ Angela Ziegler.”

Sombra paused for a moment, before offering a grin. “That’s not gonna be too hard, I mean, look at you. Even _I_ want some of that.”

Amélie rolled her eyes in an overly dramatic fashion, but couldn’t resist the inklings of a smirk. “Oh, how you wish.”

Her goal now was to act as a double agent. Working for Talon underneath the guise of a Blackwatch sniper. Sombra had explained the whole thing to her; her primary goal was to send back data from the medical research that Blackwatch’s doctor had been conducting. Any information of attacks they’d carry out on Talon, sting operations and the sort were also meant to be reported to HQ.

The actual process of getting Amélie into Blackwatch had been harrowing, with Sombra having to hijack the Canadian overseer’s email account in order to send an offer to send an agent over. Then there was the issue of having to hide Commander Reyes’ replies on that account, and Amélie found herself glad that _she_ wasn’t Talon’s techhead. She had asked why Sombra couldn’t just take all the digitally stored data before she was given an incredulous look. “What, you think that _all_ of it’s stored on computers? Not only that, but that they’d be willing to send it over _email_ of all places?” After putting it like that, Amélie had felt a little silly. The whole ‘think before you speak’ thing hadn’t quite cemented itself in her brain yet.

“You can thank me for the idea, by the way. This way, we don’t have to waste resources on trying to find researchers to work for Talon. We’re basically letting what we had sit with Blackwatch until we’re able to steal a more finished version back,” Sombra said with a shrug. “Can’t believe they’re such idiots, y’know? Believing that Talon’s _actually_ sloppy enough to just _leave_ information like that lying around? _Dame un descanso._ ”

Amélie shrugged. There was a sneaking little suspicion telling her that perhaps Overwatch _did_ know. Even if there was no reason for them to believe this, assuming Sombra made everything look genuine. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, remember your cover story, alright? Overwatch agent from Canada. Didn’t know English until you moved to a small city in Quebec. Moved ‘cause the Omnic Crisis and you couldn’t go to Switzerland. Language barrier. Also, nobody should be on your ass if you don’t know the slang, but it wouldn’t hurt to read up on the way there, yeah? Read over the full profile as well. Get it down in your head.”

“Understood.”

Sombra gave her a smile. “Good, then we’re all set. Hit me up if you need me, but remember that I’ll be in Castillo on business. If that’s all, I’m gonna end the call.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” Amélie responded, and soon enough was left alone with a powered-down holoscreen staring her right in the face. She sighed, and got out of her seat. She didn’t _want_ to do this mission, but it was just another thing that she’d have to overcome. Sure enough, Gérard was dead now (she received word only a week after the letter was sent to her house. She still couldn’t decide if she was over it or not). They had no other dirt on her that prevented her from leaving, aside from the fact that if she left, she’d likely be hunted down like a damned dog. It was selfish of her, but that was a fate she would like to avoid.

 _A true hero would rather die before they succumb to the enemy_ , Amélie thought to herself. Amused at her own impulsive thought, she scoffed. Talon wasn’t _all_ bad, not like what she had originally thought. They were simply… unorthodox in their ways. As time passed, she had found that some of their ideals and morals even lined up. It was a thought that had initially repulsed her, but like all things, she was able to learn to suck it up and forget.

Suck it up and forget. That wasn’t necessarily true.

Amélie could very easily remember her first kill. It’d been winter, someone was trying to flank a Talon agent. Before she could think, before she could have even blinked, she had shot out. _Ping._ And then they were dead. A nameless extra who kept jumping out in her mind. It was frustrating. _All_ of her kills stuck out in her mind, and she didn’t know if she was glad that she didn’t have to kill often. Would it be easier if the murdering blurred together in her mind…? She shook her head. That was a silly way of thinking.

Enough thinking. Into the bathroom and ready for bed.

While brushing her teeth, Amélie’s mind can’t stop racing. To Switzerland. _Right under their noses._ God, it’d be so easy. For her to make one small slip up. Talon placed so much confidence inside of her. _Too_ much confidence, even. She’d be found out and… then what? Would Talon even come for her?

(It was a stupid thought. Talon came for other agents when they were imprisoned, and Amélie is the best damn sniper they have. _Not_ breaking her out of prison would have been a stupid idea to rival all stupid ideas, quite frankly. And yet, stunningly, those reassurances did nothing for her. Absolute bullfuck nothing.)

Her dreams were riddled with self-doubt, and the rest of the week did not treat her much better.


End file.
